


Circles in Circles

by DreamingAmethystDragons



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Confessions, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, Sinja, Strange Dreams, good endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAmethystDragons/pseuds/DreamingAmethystDragons
Summary: For the privilege of being by Sin’s side, Ja’far would walk over any amount of burning coals.  Not even dreams could take that away… but of course, they’ve got to do things differently.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my partner Sofielella over on tumblr for their birthday.

He walks into the shaded arcade, and when he sees Sinbad’s form laying motionless against the marble, his heart stops. 

“Si - My lord!” Conscious, inexplicably and very powerfully, of eyes on his back, Ja’far barely feels his feet touch the ground until he is kneeling by his king, hands skimming swiftly over Sinbad’s body. At a glance, he sees no wound, no sign of blood - poison? His mind spins, awareness expands - there’s two people, accountants by their garb, across the garden passing into the left hall - he doesn’t sense anyone watching from the roof, curses that Masrur isn’t nearby, he could use the man’s powerful hearing at this moment, and his blades are a centimeter from plunging into flesh when a hand curls around his wrist.

His eyes shoot up, and he’s not sure if it’s relief or powerful anger washing through him like a deluge of icy water when he sees gold eyes looking at him with drowsiness and slight confusion. He alters that to annoyed (he adds a bit of thankfulness, but damn the man if he’ll let it show) when Sinbad yawns, thumb absently rubbing circles into Ja’far’s wrist. “Did something happen?” His king asks, rubbing at his face. “Not that I’m never down to be felt up, but I would have thought you’d ask first, Ja’far – “

“You -“ There’s a lot of words Ja’far would like to say here, and only about a third of them are safe to say in public, so he settles for curling his left hand into a fist and a slow exhale before he asks, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but normally an exposed, public hall like this is not the place for naps.”

“Hm.” Sinbad looks around, face studiously blank (the man hadn’t even moved to sit up yet) as Ja’far watches him. Had Sinbad fainted and didn’t remember it? He hadn’t seen any signs of sickness lately - he liked to think, sometimes fondly and usually exasperatedly, that Sin drank far too much to be able to get sick - but colds could come on suddenly…

When Sinbad finally says, “I just felt like lying down for a nap,” Ja’far’s better instincts cave way and he slaps an open hand over Sin’s shoulder.

Gods, could the man be any more adept at pushing his buttons?

Sinbad finally sits up, laughing that deep rumbling laugh that alternatively makes Ja’far want to turn bright red and hide his face, or press his lips up against the column of Sin’s throat and feel it resonate between them….

… Well. It’s a good thing that Ja’far’s been able to hide that particular attraction over the years. Nothing’d ever come of it anyway.

He can admire at least, damn it. 

Sinbad reaches up to straighten Ja’far’s (probably horribly askew) keffiyeh, smiling. Internally, Ja’far is reveling at the touch, but he narrows his eyes at Sinbad to let the man know he’s most certainly not getting away that easily. Fortunately, Sinbad is hardly resistant, and he says, “Honestly, Ja’far. I’m not lying - I sat down in the shade after being stuck in that horribly stuffy meeting room with the head of the leather working guild - old stick, that man - and I guess I just got too comfortable. I’m fine, I swear. No bumps or bruises, I feel fine. Give it a feel,” (here his eyes sparkle, wickedly suggestive and teasing and reassuring at once and honestly Ja’far will never know how the man makes faces like those, and if years of watching weren’t enough by now then he never will know) “if you need to check, I give you permission.”

Ja’far exhales through his nose, disengaging his hands away from Sin’s clothing. “There are better places to take a nap,” is all he says, tucking his blades securely back into place. He stands up, leaving Sinbad still slightly sprawled on the floor; his king seems okay, so he really should be getting back to work now, although conscripting a few of the guards into keeping a closer eye on Sin sounds like a workable plan. “Please tidy yourself, I believe you have another meeting in a half hour.” Maybe he sounds a little distant and cold, judging from the twist of a frown across Sin’s lips, so he reaches out and rests a hand on Sin’s shoulder in silent apology. The silk of his clothing is soft and warm under his hand, and his fingers tingle slightly as he retracts. “Can you get up alight?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Sinbad stands up and Ja’far moves back a half step to give him room as he stretches, yawning widely. “No rest for the weary and wonderful.” He winks at Ja’far, the corner of his mouth crooking into a smile, then he turns to head away, waving a hand once as he goes. Ja’far watches him, brow slightly furrowed - he sees no sign of wobbling or other unsteadiness in Sinbad’s gait, so he gives a short bow (more out of habit than anything) to his king’s retreating form before he leaves. He can’t afford to sit around idly any more than Sin can, anyway.

He presses his fingertips to his chest, and his heart flutters, hummingbird-fast.

—-  
He’s dreaming. Ja’far knows he has to be, because in the real world colors are not this fever-bright, and the outlines of objects do not shift and blur over the space they occupy. 

Ja’far’s a little irked, mostly because he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Gods, he hopes he didn’t fall asleep at his desk - Sinbad would never let him forget that one, and he doesn’t remember going to bed but he also doesn’t really remember much of what he was doing before his eyes fluttered open to this dreamscape. Was he drugged? Or maybe there was something in the air; after all, Sinbad had been asleep this morning… he makes a note to be kinder to Sin later, if this little… whatever this is… escapes notice. That should keep Sinbad on his toes, wondering what he did. Ha.

Ja’far smiles to himself, thinly, as he looks around. If he pinches himself, will he wake up? That seems… rather cliché. He starts walking instead, figuring that if he’s dreaming on the job he’d better make something of it. Where had he heard that one doesn’t dream without a reason? Maybe from Yamuraiha. A subtle inquiry later wouldn’t hurt. 

He can hear the gentle movement of the waves, far below him, and he pauses to try to orient himself. The cobbled pathway slopes up, away from him, hugging a sheer cliff, below him, when he ventures closer to the unguarded drop, a pastel sea stretches to the horizon, soft blues and purples in a source-less light. That must be why he feels so disoriented; without a direct light everything feels flat, and he rests a hand securely on a facet of gritty rock before he looks up. He only manages a couple seconds before he looks away, nauseous and eyes shut tight. The sky above is the darkest of navy blues, bottomless and broken by no clouds, only stars so bright they make something in the back of his mind burn.

He walks forward, up the path, shoulders hunched and eyes half-lidded. His head hurts less if he tries to rely on senses other than sight. For all the fuzziness of his surroundings, he’s never had such a surreal dream. And yet, though, he tries not to listen too closely because under the crash of the waves he hears something else, something static-y and trembling and crescendoing like a hundred human voices crying out. Instead, he grits his teeth and hums to himself quietly as he ascends.

He goes through simple songs - chanties of seamen and dockworkers, snatches of lullabies heard in distant lands, slow hymns heard spilling out from hidden temples, and by the time the pathway flattens out the nape of his neck is covered in a sheen of cold sweat and his voice feels like cracking. 

Ja’far opens his eyes again and turns in a slow circle, looking around. He’s standing on a circular stone platform, crisscrossed in strange writing and runic designs. Flat red stones are embedded at regular intervals, teardrops cascading to the center of the circle. His stomach churns and his hand shake, and as his feet carry him toward the middle of the platform under a bottomless sky he skims his hands over his arms, searching for his wires. They aren’t there. 

The wires which have always been such comfortable weights on his arms are gone, and as he reaches the center the wind picks up, tossing his robes about him. This is a dream, Ja’far repeats to himself, holding on to his keffiyeh. It’s a dream, it’s a dream, and he feels something behind him, like the lowest note on a deep-throated instrument, strumming the quivering air. Ja’far quivers with it and turns, wind shrieking nonsense in his ears, and then his muscles freeze.

Ja’far has never felt fear like this, absolute and feral, the baby bunny clutched within the talons of the gryphon, and he hugs his arms close to his body as he stares up into red eyes. Crimson eyes of blood spilt into the sand, and a giant serpent with moon-silver scales is coiling around the stone, towering above him, edges sliding off into infinite fractal curves and teeth curled to impossible edges, spike and scale and too much too much no stop I c a n ’ t

—-  
There’s gentle hands on his shoulders and Ja’far starts awake, halfway out of his chair and hands scaling for his knives before his wits catch up with him. Then there are hands forcing him back down to his chair and it’s only when he hears Sinbad’s voice repeating his name urgently that he lets himself sink back down, heart hammering and eyes wide.

He must look a wreck because Sinbad’s face is filled with worry, and he skirts around Ja’far’s messy, paper-strewn desk to kneel beside Ja’far. Ja’far’s too tense and trembling to stop him, even when warm, slightly sweaty hands engulf his own, and he can only blink uncomprehendingly ahead, mind desperately trying to blank out what it had been screaming at seconds ago. 

“Maybe we should have stayed in bed today,” Sinbad finally jokes quietly, trying for a smile that fails only because of the sheer concern creasing his brow. Ja’far can only give a quiet cough of a laugh in response, curling his fingers back around Sinbad’s. He wonders why Sin had come into his office, but a glance out the window answers that; the torches are already lit over the darkening city, and he keeps his eyes resolutely away from the sky. Usually if he knows he’s not going to make it to dinner (he’s a busy man, after all) he sends a messenger; when none had arrived, Sinbad must have been worried or curious.

… He hopes he hadn’t been thrashing around in his sleep. Sinbad’s accused him of overworking before. 

There’s fingers tracing his temple and he leans into the touch gratefully, thankful for some form of human contact. He’d worried about Sin’s reaction but there’s no teasing, only gentle concern, and Sinbad finally sighs. Ja’far opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) in time for Sinbad to remove his keffiyeh, carding his hand through Ja’far’s hair. Ja’far is surprised enough to let him get away with it. “Come on, Ja’far. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Ja’far struggles up out of his seat after him. Thankfully his legs aren’t too shaky, but nonetheless he’s glad for the hand at his elbow that keeps him balanced. Sinbad just tilts his head and guides him across the room and out into the hallway, arm warm against Ja’far back, and that corner of Ja’far’s mind that is him at seventeen is rather preoccupied by the fact that Sinbad more or less has his arm wrapped around him.

Fortunately, he’s had plenty of practice ignoring that piece of his mind.

Left turn, left turn, right turn and Ja’far realizes that Sinbad is guiding them to Ja’far’s quarters. “Telling me to sleep in my own bed instead of my desk?” Ja’far jokes quietly. The air hums with cricket-song and it’s quiet. Soothing. “It’s more comfortable than you think.”

“I’ll take your word for it, my dear advisor.” There’s nothing but amused affection in Sin’s reply, and Ja’far finds himself relaxing by inches and degrees. They’re safe. It’s okay. “But today’s been a strange one, so I hope you don’t mind my company.”

“Not at all.” Ja’far’s rather unguarded right now, and that’s all he has to blame for setting all this on Sin. He’ll make up for it later. “As long as you don’t mind mine.”

“Would you like the truth, Ja’far?”

Ja’far turns his head, peers at Sinbad. His king only tilts his head back, eyes soft and liquid in the dim light, and he can feel the heat radiating from Sin’s body, close as they are. That warmth was welcome on cold nights, traveling in distant lands when they were younger, and that memory comforts him now. He nods.”

“I wanted your company and your company alone right now.”

Something in Ja’far’s stomach quivers, but all he does is let a small smile show. “I’m glad to be of service.”

“That’s not what I meant. Ja’far, I…” Sin hesitates, then shakes his head slightly, eyes lingering on Ja’far’s throat. “Were you having a bad dream?”

“Yes.” It’s the truth; he owes Sinbad that. “Were you dreaming earlier?”

“… Yes. Kind of. I don’t really know what it was about; it was like sitting in the crow’s nest and watching a ship move without your dictation. Like I was a ghost in someone’s body.” He sighs. “It wasn’t really scary, just… odd.”

That’s a lot different than his own dream. “Well, I guess it’s good I woke you when I did.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “And your dream?”

“I dreamt of a bottomless sky and a great serpent that made your eyes hurt to look at it directly.”

“Trying to show me up?”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“Only for you.” Sinbad snorts and pushes a door open; they are already there. “No midnight snacks for either of us tonight, after this.”

He wouldn’t have minded some dinner earlier, but now his appetite is quite gone. “Agreed.” He steps free of Sin’s loose hold and into his room, making his way to his bed. A warm breeze makes the curtains of his window flutter, and he turns with a quizzical glance when he realizes Sinbad is still following him. “Sin?”

“Ah.” Sinbad has a strange expression - something like embarrassment. “Um… Can I stay?”

“… For a bit, then let me sleep.” Sinbad must be more worried than he let on. “I’m fine, Sinbad, I swear. He mimics his king’s words from earlier. “No bumps or bruises.”

Often that’d be Sinbad’s cue to say something outrageous, but this time he only chuckles, hand carding through purple hair at the nape of his neck. “No, I trust you. I just - wanted to ask you something.”

Oh. Well, maybe that was why Sinbad had come looking for him. Either way… “Well, go on. I’m listening.”

“It’s… rather personal.”

“Sinbad.” He sighs, and Sin raises his eyebrows. “I’ve heard some pretty strange things, being around you. Trust me, not much is going to surprise me anymore.” Ja’far sits down on his bed, rubbing his neck. “And if you’re not ready, then wait. That’s fine too.”

Sinbad looks at him for a long moment, then crosses the few spaces between them to sit next to Ja’far. Ja’far shifts easily, making room for Sin at the edge of the bed, and Sinbad looks at him for a long minute, eyes flitting over his face. Ja’far looks back easily, returning the attention; it had been a good day when he’d gotten over denial and was able to appreciate Sinbad without feeling flustered. His king was handsome, after all.

A hand touches his and Ja’far meets the other’s eyes. “Ja’far.” Sinbad looks uncharacteristically serious for a second, and then he looks away - blushing? “I’m… not good at this. I guess it’s karma, catching up.”

“Karma, working against you?” Ja’far teases, gently. 

“I know, I know.” Sinbad takes his turban off, hair slightly mussed, and Ja’far can’t help thinking (privately) that he liked Sinbad better like this, softer edges and unguarded words over the mask he wore in public reception halls - there he was every inch a king, but here he was the man that Ja’far adored and would follow to any end. He’s dwelling on that, and nearly misses what Sin says next.

“… I like you, Ja’far.”  
Ja’far blinks, mind somehow trailing several minutes behind his mouth. “I hope you do, Sin. I like you too, that’s why I follow you.”

Sinbad looks thrown, and then he laughs, less nervous than before. He mutters something under his breath before continuing. “Not quite the way you’re thinking, Ja’far.”

Ja’far looks at Sinbad. Really looks, studying every flicker of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, and decides he’s not joking, not if he’s not that shy-nervous, and abruptly his face feels very hot. Sinbad’s hand is still in his, and when Sinbad goes to remove it Ja’far squeezes it all the tighter, drawing a rumble of surprise out from his king. 

“…Ja’far?”

Oh, he can’t look at Sinbad right now, not if they want to do this in all seriousness. According to most people, this isn’t how this is supposed to go. There’s supposed to be fireworks and drama, confessions and falling and steamy… things afterwards, but Ja’far isn’t even really surprised because this is… Sinbad. His best friend, his king, his adored, and of course they’ve got to do this all backwards, but really, he…

… He prefers this. Ja’far covers the lower part of his face with his hand. “My seventeen-year-old self is yelling right now.”

“What?”

He sneaks a peak back at Sin, and nope, he still can’t look him in the eye, and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh, cry, or tackle the man. “I like you too. Yes, in the way you’re hoping.”

Sinbad, when Ja’far dares look at him, looks like a thief who has just stumbled across a chest filled with mounds of diamonds and treasure - dawning surprise and happiness stamped squarely across his face. Sin’s never been hard for Ja’far to read. “Really?”

Good gods. “I feel like we’re teenagers right now. Yes, really. For a while, if you must know. And -“ He doesn’t make it much farther than that because arms are around his waist and he’s flat on his back with Sin all pressed up against him, face against his shoulder, and it takes a bit of maneuvering for Ja’far to free his arms enough to wrap them around Sinbad’s shoulders. Funny how all traces of that dream have fallen away save for the bare memory, untainted by the emotions that had followed; they are burned away by Sin’s presence like fog in the sunlight. Sinbad’s shaking, and for a crazy moment Ja’far wonders is he crying? before he realizes, no, the man’s just laughing. 

That’s alright, though. Ja’far’s smiling as well, and then Sinbad’s up and leaning over him, filled with happiness like a cup. “That went a lot better than I hoped,” he admits, and Ja’far laughs, oddly comfortable. 

“At least you had the guts to do it. I never would have,” he admits, and Sinbad settles back down beside him, one arm carelessly thrown over Ja’far. 

“Yes, well - weren’t you jealous? I admit, I haven’t had the best track record -“

“Sin,” Ja’far interrupts before his king ruins the moment, “Shut it. Whatever you have to give me, I am happy with.” And that’s the truth, pure and simple. As long as he was by Sinbad’s side, he needed nothing else, and he feels his heart stutter when warm eyes meet his –

And then warmer lips meet his, and thinking is relatively unimportant for the next few minutes. 

This isn’t how he pictured things going, but later that night after skin pressed against skin and they tangled their sweaty limbs together, Ja’far thinks to himself: This is all I needed.

And no dream premonition will take that away. If I have to walk into the fangs of the serpent to save my king, so be it. For him, the world.

That’s all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to both my tumblr and fanfiction.net accounts.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
